Scarlet Dusk (31 page)

She knew it!

She’d known it all along!

But did
anybody
ever listen? Did anybody
ever
listen to poor, pathetic, dull-witted Celine?

No!

Of course not!

Nobody ever gave her the credit she deserved!

She cursed, dragging her fingers through the back of her hair and raking more of the paint from it before yanking the few nails and screws from the back of her shoulder that she
could
reach.

The moment that the homemade bombs had crashed through the window—the very
second
they’d entered the room—Celine had seen them for what they were. Then, it was only a matter of jumping into overdrive and kicking in the corner of Maledictus’ repulsive bone-throne. With the broken bits, she’d been able to pick the lock to her chains—something she could’ve done at any time but had
purposefully
reserved for the right moment;
that
moment—and sprinted for the door.

If it hadn’t been for her stumbling with the damnable door, she’d have made it out without taking any of the blast at all!

“Fucking idiots! The whole lot of them; Zane and his pathetic bitch
and
that repugnant pervert of a lizard,” she muttered to herself, working her way down the emergency stairwell, yanking a First-Aid kit off the wall as she passed. “Let the whole brain-dead lot just rip themselves to fucking pieces, then I can get away. Just wait for them all to
kill
each other before I—AH! Bloody fucking hell!” she winced as she poured some of the rubbing alcohol over the back of her shoulder. Breathing out the pain and shaking her head, she continued down the steps, “Can’t believe he made me suck his—”

Something thudded and clawed at the bottom of the stairwell.

Celine froze, peeking over the railing and fighting the wave of vertigo from the view of the square-spiral of stairs beneath her.

“H-hel-hello…” she could barely get the air to fuel the word past her quivering lips. “I-is somebody there? P-please… I need some help…”

No response.

No spoken response, at least.

At the sound of her echoing voice, the thuds and scratches intensified—grew more frantic and eager—until, finally, a latch
click
ed and the basement door slammed open.

“S-Stay—” Celine stopped herself, clearing her throat and fighting her wavering nerves to sound confident and strong.
Pretend you’re the blonde bimbo,
she thought to yourself,
Just act like Zane’s stupid whore and you might get through this!

Something rattled the railing at the base of the stairs and the sound of footsteps—more than one set?—started up towards her.

Just like Serena,
Celine reminded herself once more. Then, “Whoever the fuck is playing with me better piss off before I decide to rip out my tampon and choke a motherfucker with it!” she gaped as the words flooded from her.
Bloody hell, did I say that? Holy shit! I’m a total badass!

But the sound of lumbering footsteps on the stairs didn’t falter.

Thinking better of trying to back up her newfound vulgarity with any real action, Celine turned and started back up the stairs.

Maledictus wheezed as his aching throat screamed for oxygen. Zane’s cheap shot on his throat had been bad enough without following it up with a headache from hell—ironic as that was—and finally proving that he
wasn’t
bulletproof.

As it turned out, when over fifty bullets were shot at him fast enough, at least a dozen did what they were supposed to do.

Good to know.

He made a note to thank Zane—over and over and over again—for helping him discover this about himself.

In return, perhaps he’d formally introduce him to each and every one of his internal organs; one by—

“Do I not have your attention, shit-eater?” Zane growled, slamming the pommel.

Maledictus stumbled. The pommel? He recalled a visit from a Japanese traveler teaching him that his people called it the
kashira
of a katana. He blinked. When had he had a Japanese traveler?

Furthermore, why in the hell did it matter?

“You hear me, Maledictus?” Zane lunged, drawing back the katana for another strike, “Time to—”

“Oh, I hear you loud and fucking clear, Zaney-boy!” he hissed, blocking Zane’s attack by bringing his forearm under his wrist and pushing him back. “I’m just having a bit of an identity crisis.” He kicked Zane, connecting with his stomach and forcing him back down the narrow corridor. Shaking his head, he scoffed at their surroundings, “Can you fucking
believe
that those dumb cunts actually picked this shit-hole as the headquarters for their limp-dick clan? Place is a bigger fucking nightmare than anything even I could come up with!”

“Kinda doubt that,” Zane glared, jumping into overdrive to end him.

Maledictus followed after him, spotting the pair of katanas coming straight for his eyes. Ducking back, he wedged both of his arms between the blades and pushed them apart; slamming Zane’s wrists against the walls of the hallway. Gripping the vampire warrior’s shoulders, he charged forward, forcing Zane off his feet.

It’s been fun, old friend, but it’s time to—

Zane, using Maledictus’ hold on his upper-body, brought both knees up and into the Leiche’s belly—shifting the contents of his organs and forcing several of the bullets to roll uncomfortably within his guts—and head-butted him in the nose. Reeling back, Maledictus stumbled and faltered out of overdrive, carrying Zane, who started to slip free of his grip, with him.

“—time to
end
you!” Zane growled, baring his fangs and, dropping the katana from his right hand and letting it fall behind Maledictus’ shoulder, drove a sharp right-hook into his ribs. Yanking his hand back, he darted his open hand under Maledictus’ arm, catching the still-falling katana and stabbing it into the back of the Leiche’s right calf.

Maledictus hissed and stumbled as his right leg went limp under his weight, and Zane facilitated his condition by jamming his extended elbow into his freshly cracked ribs and slamming him against the wall.

And now Maledictus had a pierced lung.

Zane was such a giver.

He really had to think of a way to repay him.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole?” Zane growled, punching him in the face.

Had he been laughing?

Oh well, roll with it.

Maledictus smiled. “I’ve got some company coming to join us.”

Raith growled.

Though the act had barely registered with him, the echoes of the deep, ferocious sound reverberated along the length of the elevator shaft he was occupying.

Hearing it come rolling back up, however, he realized that he agreed with himself and, aware of this new one, issued another, longer growl.

He didn’t like the idea of splitting up; didn’t like the idea of Nikki wandering this waiting house of horrors to spring to un-life and turn into Maledictus’ war scene. He knew it was coming, and he knew Zane knew it was coming. Though, for the life of him, he couldn’t begin to fathom
how
it was going to come.

A Leiche…

Damn!

It was bad enough when the
Maledictus
was just a curse—some enchanted program that the rage-infected taroe tribe had cooked up as a punishment for him and Zane poking around their village—and was parading around in his own ykali body. Bad, but nothing compared to
this.
The Leiche essence—whatever his name had once been—had acquired Zane’s vampire traits and Raith’s own shapeshifting abilities, turning him into something that the world had not only never seen, but reawakening something that the world had already suffered from over a thousand years earlier.

And Nikki was on her own in a building that all of
that
had been squatting in for going on a week!

Who knew what sort of dangers occupied all those floors…

Climbing, upside-down, down the lift cables of the elevator shaft, Raith kept his sensitive ears open for any sign of something on the lower floors.

As well as the chance of Nikki’s whistle.

He only hoped that her pride wouldn’t keep her from calling for help if the need arose.

As he started to pass the third floor, he heard something and paused; his hands gripping the cable as he craned his neck towards the door. Sure enough, something—or, rather, many things—were crashing about on that level. Thinking that Zane and Maledictus’ battle might have taken them down further than he’d expected or that any of others may have encountered some sort of trouble, he righted himself on the cable and then jumped to the ledge. Pressing his ear against the door, he verified the suspicions that
someone
was causing a great deal of damage, but, unable to hear any voices, couldn’t identify whom.

Growling again, Raith wedged his clawed fingertips between the sliding elevator doors and yanked them apart, coming face-to-face with…

A zombie?

Raith blinked at the alien sight of a lumbering,
living
corpse—half of its face torn away to expose the rotting meat and vacant, maggot-infested right eye socket and a decent chunk of the back-left area of its skull caved in—before noticing shortly after that, just beyond the equally bewildered risen corpse, was even more like it.

Well… shit!
Raith thought to himself.

The corpse, which seemed just as astonished by the sudden appearance of a therion just on the other side of the magically-opened elevator doors, finally shuffled to face him and let out a high-pitched, guttural sound from its throat.

Then
every
corpse was facing him, and then approaching.

Raith kicked out. The attack hit the corpse in the hip, making a wet popping, and—as a wet, clotted stream of reeking black blood began to trickle from the corpse’s rot-coated shorts—it slowly began to fold over under the caved-in portion that Raith had just torn out.

Oh, gross! No fucking thank you!
Raith stabbed his claws into the doors and slammed them shut before turning and jumping back to the lift cables, eager to get to the higher floors and warn the other of the massive—and disgusting—army that Maledictus had no-doubt brought into being.